


Almost Too Easy

by depthsofmysol



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Author Attempts to Write Non-Angst, Drunkenness, M/M, Strip Poker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:09:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofmysol/pseuds/depthsofmysol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone had said <i>never</i> underestimate Ariadne. Now, Arthur & Eames knew why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Almost Too Easy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eamesish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish/gifts).



> I know your birthday was last week, but I thought you could use something not quite so angst ridden as the last fic. And, who can resist Arthur, Eames and strip poker...

A wise man had told them to _never_ underestimate Ariadne, that there was more to her than just an architect. They'd never really believed that. Sure, she was a university student, and was brilliant at designing mazes for dreams, and had somehow forced Cobb to deal with Mal, and her presence in their dreams. But she was still a _student_ , someone they'd brought along because they needed someone reliable, someone who could actually build the mazes the dreams were based on. Sticking around wasn't something they'd actually thought would happen. Job was done, time to move on to the next part of their lives. Which, for a certain point man and forger, was another job back in Europe. No matter how addicting it was, Arthur, and Eames, hadn't expected to ever see Ariadne again. At least, not quite so soon.

"Sure you don't want to fold, Ariadne?" Eames couldn't quite hide the amusement that tinted his voice, knowing he had quite the winning hand in front of him. Poker, more specifically five card draw, was one of the many games he was good at. To the point that he rarely needed to concentrate on keeping his face void of anything that would give away his hand. Tonight was no different. 

After pulling off yet another job, without any major problems, they'd decided to celebrate. Arthur, as always, had suggested a dinner at one of the upscale restaurants near their hotel. Ariadne, unexpectedly, suggested a night hopping from club to club. Eames had quickly vetoed both of their suggestions, deciding it was better to celebrate in the only way he knew how – a little game of poker. Their looks had said it all, and being the _charming_ person he was, convinced them it would be harmless, that they could play for rights to be the dreamer in their next job, or something along those lines. He would have _preferred_ playing for money, but hearing Ariadne veto his idea, and replace it with the loss of clothing, how could he say no to that. Although, the horror-stricken look that quickly settled on Arthur's face spoke volumes about his feelings on the subject.

"Quite certain, Eames," Ariadne quickly replied, the amusement in her voice almost matching that of the forger, across the table from her. She knew she would have an advantage over the other two. During the downtime between school projects, she'd taken up playing poker. Mostly as a way to kill time, but also because after the first game, she'd found she had a knack for it. Nothing quite as extreme as Eames, of course, but enough to win some extra spending money. This time, the stakes were a little higher, and after their first few hands, where she'd lost more clothing than even Arthur, she knew it was time to stop going easy on the boys. She wasn't about to lose not only her pride, but her _clothes_ , to Eames.

"Maybe you'd like – "

"Y'know, nothing in my research mentioned you being any _good_ at cards," Arthur quickly interrupted, his annoyance clearly visible. He'd spent the night watching the forger, and the architect, act more like children than adults, and were it not for his almost limitless amount of patience, might have actually put an end to their game. But he found himself actually _enjoying_ the game, enjoying the camaraderie the three of them had. It might have had something to do with the alcohol that they'd bought, but something kept telling him there was something more there. More than the fact that she'd somehow gotten both himself, and Eames to the bare minimal of clothing. 

Sitting around in nothing more than a pair of socks wasn't all that surprising, as he was horrible when it came to poker. Seeing Eames in nothing but his boxers? _That_ had taken him by surprise. He was supposed to be good at card games. At _any_ sort of game where people tended to bet money. Yet, somehow, Ariadne – their innocent looking, _conniving_ , architect – had won enough hands to strip them of almost every piece of clothing they'd had on them, while still sitting in her bra, jeans, and what he assumed was the matching pair of underwear.

"What can I say. A girl's gotta have her secrets, Arthur," her words were still tinted with amusement, and flashing a quick smirk towards the point man, returned to staring at Eames. If she was going to win this particular hand, and leave triumphantly, she would need to get the forger to fold. As bad as she felt about Arthur, and watching him lose hand after hand, it was nothing compared to the joy she would feel if she could only beat Eames. His reputation preceded him – both as a forger, and a gambler. To win this game, even if all they were playing for were their clothes, would give her something to hold over his head for a long time. And in their line of work, information, no matter how minuscule, was always appreciated.

Though, she did have a slight advantage over the boys. While they'd happily made their way through one of the bottles of wine, she was currently on her second drink of the night, knowing she wouldn't have been able to concentrate with large amounts of alcohol in her system. One poorly played hand of poker in the past, had taught Ariadne the value of pacing herself when it came to card games.

"So, Eames…"

"I'm out," his words came out far quicker than he'd preferred, but Arthur wasn't about to lose what little dignity he had left. Folding the cards face down on the table in front of him, he downed the last of the wine in his glass, and crossed his arms across his chest. He would have preferred to have gotten dressed, hating the feeling of vulnerability that was quickly creeping up his body. It wasn't being void of all clothing in front of Eames that bothered him so much. They'd spent more than enough time in _and_ out of bed, to have any problems being sans clothing. It was sitting there, naked, in front of Ariadne, that was giving him issues. People you work with should _never_ see you naked. _Never_. Not even in dreams. His _only_ comfort came from the fact the table in their room kept most of himself covered.

"Let's see what you've got, love," his words, taunting the girl, more than anything. Eames could see the discomfort on Arthur, and as much as it pained him, his desire to win was stronger than his desire to put the point man at ease. There would be time enough for that later. _After_ he'd won enough hands to divest the architect of her own clothing.

He still couldn't believe that Ariadne, the _student_ , was just as good at cards as she was at building mazes. Eames refused to think of her as being on his level. His ego, what little was left of it, just wouldn't handle it. But, watching her, hand after hand, beat them both, hands down, was a little startling. Especially considering how they'd started out. Their first few hands had been him beating not only Arthur, but Ariadne. Without any sort of problem. Poker was the sort of game he could play blindfolded. Maybe, that was where he went wrong. Assuming that the architect was only good at designing things, and nothing else. He was more than willing to admit he'd been wrong. _Before_ he'd been forced to strip out of everything, except for his neon pink and green boxers. A gift from a friend, he would explain, should anyone ask. No one usually did, and Arthur knew better than to question anything in regards to his taste in clothing. It was one of the few unwritten rules they had between them. Neither of them asked, and neither of them would have to explain their sometimes strange taste in clothing.

"And _this_ is where I say good night, boys. It's been fun, but next time, you might actually want to _listen_."

Staring at the cards in front of Ariadne, Eames couldn't believe what he was seeing. Somehow, the architect had beaten his hand. And not just beaten it, but had a hand that was next to impossible to beat. How? How the hell had she gotten that hand? He'd never been above cheating to win at card games, but something told him that the girl sitting across the table from him wouldn't stoop quite so low. Or had she? Was she far more devious than any of them gave her credit for? Or was it just a bit more than beginner's luck?

"Eames?" He placed a hand over the forger's arm, hoping that a simple gesture might actually bring the man back to reality. Though, Arthur couldn't help but laugh, watching as Ariadne had not only beaten the forger, but had reminded them _both_ that she was more than just a student, more than just an _architect_. He'd tried to tell the man that she wasn't going to be a pushover. But like most things, Eames refused to listen to him. Now, maybe he would finally listen when he gave him advice. It wasn't very likely, of course, but then again, no one had ever beaten the forger at his own game. And never quite as handily as Ariadne had.

"I promise you, this is reality," he whispered, watching the forger scramble for his totem. It was the one thing they could each take comfort in, and watching Eames rub the poker chip between his thumb and forefinger, knew the man was still in shock over what had just happened. At least Ariadne had had the decency to leave almost immediately after showing him the winning hand. Arthur wasn't too sure how Eames would handle losing, and while he knew the man wasn't _that_ violent, he knew when push came to shove, his violent side tended to come out.

"I tried to –"

"Yeah, yeah, I know Arthur. I just – " Eames had _never_ lost. Not quite like that, at least. He actually felt like he'd taken a few steps back, and was starting all over again. Ariadne had beaten him. In poker. A game he was _good_ at. There was no way his ego would get over that. And worse, she would have that information to hang over his head time and time again. Arthur had tried to tell him, and like usual, he'd ignored it, figuring their architect would be quite the pushover. Rarely had he been wrong.

"Christ, this was not how I expected tonight to end," he confessed, groaning to the ceiling as he leaned back in his chair. When he thought of tonight, he figured he'd be the one fully dressed, and his two partners would have been sans clothes. This particular situation was one he never would have thought of. It wasn't even in the realm of possibilities. And yet, here they were, both of them, in a hotel room, basically naked. All because of _Ariadne_.

"Come to bed, Mister Eames, and I won't underestimate your _talents_."


End file.
